Fairest: The Lunar Chronicles: Levana's Story (3 page)

Then she spotted a quilt that hung on one wall, large enough to take up almost the entire space. Levana stepped back to admire it, enchanted.

Earth. And space. Pieced together from shredded fabrics of all different sizes and shapes, the edges left raw where they’d been seamed together. Shining forest greens and rough-textured desert browns, shimmering ocean blues and velvet ebony blacks, all stitched together with gold thread. Every segment of the quilt was embroidered with whimsical patterns of ivy and flowers, elaborate spiral curls and glowing starbursts, and though it seemed like it should have been chaotic and excessive, the consistency of the gold thread grounded the piece. Made it beautiful and somehow serene. Levana knew very little about quilting or embroidery, but she could tell, instinctually, that every tiny stitch had been done by hand.

“Hello.”

Levana gasped and checked—first—that her glamour hadn’t faded with her distraction, before turning around.

Solstice Hayle stood at the door to the back room, a smile on her lips and an embroidery hoop holding a swath of white cotton in her hand. A needle had been secured in the corner of the material, dark maroon thread strung through its eye.

“Can I help you?”

She looked like the embodiment of kindness, in a way that made Levana instantly defensive.

“Yes. I—” She hesitated, forgetting why she was there. What had possessed her to come to this shop, to see this beautiful woman and her enormous stomach and all the lovely garments she made with her own skilled fingers?

She swallowed down the rising despair. Remembered that
she
was beautiful too, so long as her glamour held. Remembered that
she
was a princess. “I need something for tomorrow,” she said. “To wear to the coronation.”

Solstice nodded. “Of course. I’m afraid anything constructed brand-new for the occasion would have to be rushed, which I try to avoid. But perhaps we can find something you like here in the showroom and alter it to fit your tastes.” She set aside the embroidery hoop, her hand moving to rest on her stomach as she waddled around the room. “Were you wanting a gown? Or perhaps some accessories?”

After a moment’s thought, Levana answered, “Do you have any gloves?” She already had plenty, but gloves wouldn’t have to be sized. And she liked wearing gloves. They made for one less thing she had to hide with her glamour.

“Oh, yes, I have a wonderful assortment of gloves.”

Balancing with one hand on the edge of a wooden dresser, Solstice bent over to pull out one of the lower drawers. It was filled with women’s gloves, each neatly folded atop a layer of tissue paper. “Will you be wearing a glamour for the occasion?”

Levana stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Solstice glanced up in surprise, and Levana sucked in a breath, realizing that her palms were sweating. She was suddenly
angry.
Angry that this woman was so effortlessly pretty. Angry that tonight she would sleep beside her doting husband. That soon she would hold a wrinkled, wailing baby in her arms and that child would never question whether it was loved, or whether its parents loved each other.

Nothing Levana wanted had ever come that easily.

Solstice must have noticed a darkness lurking in Levana’s eyes. She stood up, her expression showing the first hints of caution. She was breathing heavier than before, as if the small motion of opening the drawer had exhausted her, and there was a bead of sweat on her upper lip. She certainly was a fragile thing, wasn’t she?

And yet her gentle smile never left. “I only meant that if you’ll be using a glamour, we can pick out a color that will complement your chosen skin tone. Or … if you already know what gown you’ll be wearing, we can coordinate the two.”

Trying to smother the envy that had stoked inside her chest, Levana looked down at her hands. The long, slender fingers and flawless skin that weren’t really hers.

Wetting her lips, she met Solstice’s gaze again. “What would you choose for yourself?”

Solstice quirked her head to one side, reminding Levana of the small birds in the palace menagerie when they heard an unfamiliar sound and mistook it for a predator.

Solstice returned her attention to the drawer of gloves. “Well…,” she said uncertainly. “I’ve always been fond of jewel tones, myself.” Crouching again, she peeled back a couple layers of tissue paper and emerged with a set of silk gloves in rich sapphire blue. Though the gloves themselves were undecorated, their tops were rimmed with small gold chains and each had a tiny metal clasp. Levana guessed that they would reach almost to her shoulders. Solstice held the gloves against Levana’s wrist, showing the contrast with her dark skin. “What do you think?”

Pressing her lips together, Levana ran her thumb over the gold clasps. “What are these for?”

“It’s part of a new design I’ve been working on. It’s meant to be a set. See, they go with this necklace…” She led Levana to a jewelry counter lined with chains and beads and fasteners, and gestured at a gold collar. At first Levana assumed it was made of metal, but when she picked it up, she realized that it was tightly woven gold thread, intricately braided together and flexible in her grip. Two more clasps were attached to it on opposite sides. Sol continued, “I have small filigree chains that connect it to the gloves, see?”

Levana did see. It was beautiful and unusual, two things that were always popular in court fashion, but not gaudy as Levana found so many of the trendy pieces to be.

She trailed her fingers over the braided threads and imagined wearing it on her neck. How regal she would look. How it would accentuate her throat and collarbone, how the deep blue silk would look so stunning against her honey skin and rich brown hair.

Only then did she realize that in the fantasy, she looked like Solstice Hayle.

She set down the necklace, and Solstice gestured back to the dresser. “Would you like to see the other gloves?”

“No,” said Levana. “I’ll take these. And the necklace too.”

“Oh—wonderful! Will you … do you want to take them with you today, or did you want them to be personalized?”

“Personalized?”

Solstice nodded. “That’s what I specialize in—the little flourishes that, I like to think, set my shop apart from all the other seamstresses in Artemisia. If there’s a particular design you’d like embroidered on the gloves, I should be able to have them done by tomorrow morning. Some of my clients like to get their favorite flower, or their initials…”

Levana glanced at the quilt of Earth that hung on the wall. “You did that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.” Solstice laughed, and her laughter was surprisingly giddy, like a child’s. “Although it took much longer than a single evening. Do you like it?”

Levana frowned. She did like it, very much. But she didn’t want to say so.

“You can embroider the gloves for me,” she said. “I want the design to be something whimsical, like you did in the quilt. Maybe something with an
L
in it, but nothing too obvious.”

“An
L
? Like Luna.” Her smile was back, as warm as ever. “I’d be happy to. Shall I have it delivered in the morning?”

“Yes.” Levana paused, before squaring her shoulders. “Have it delivered to the palace. Address it to Princess Levana, and I will let the stewards know that I am expecting a delivery. They will see that you receive payment.”

Solstice’s smile froze, her eyes caught between surprise and panic. Levana knew the look well, the look when any of the palace servants realized they’d been in the presence of royalty and their minds skittered to recall if they’d said or done anything worth punishing. Gathering herself, Solstice gave a half curtsy, using the countertop to keep her balance. “I am sorry I didn’t recognize you, Your Highness. It is such an incredible honor to be in your service.”

Heated by the knowledge of her power over this insignificant woman and her insignificant shop, bolstered by the thought that it was, indeed, an
honor
to serve her, Levana was tempted to demonstrate her authority. She imagined demanding that Solstice kneel to her, knowing it couldn’t be easy in her condition. Or threatening her business’s reputation should she be displeased with the gloves when they arrived. Or suggesting that Solstice
give
her the marvelous quilt of Earth, as a royal tithe, or a symbol of gratitude, and watching her struggle to give up something that clearly had so much value—to her, and to her livelihood.

But Levana buried the fantasies before her tongue could betray her.

Solstice would surely tell her husband, and then Evret Hayle would never again refer to Levana as
Her most charming Highness.

She gulped, hard, and forced a smile for the first time since stepping into the shop. Perhaps this was why she’d come. So that Solstice would tell her husband about the princess’s unexpected visit, and that Levana would even be wearing one of her designs to the coronation. Levana’s heart warmed to think that Evret would know what a generous princess she was. She wanted him to think about her, even if only for a moment. She wanted him to admire her.

And so, she lied. “The honor will be all mine,” she said, “in wearing such an exquisite piece. I can see why Sir Hayle has sung your praises so highly.”

Solstice flushed with all the joy of a woman in love, and Levana left, quickly, before her own bile could burn her throat.

*   *   *

By the next morning, on the day of Channary’s coronation, it seemed that all of Luna had been granted permission to pretend that the assassinations had never happened, that the memories of King Marrok and Queen Jannali would live on peaceably in their history texts, and that young Channary would make for a most fair and just ruler. Levana wasn’t sure how many people believed this, and no doubt those who did had never met her sister, but Channary’s right to the throne went unquestioned even by her. They were, after all, the only known heirs of the Blackburn bloodline, that distant ancestor who had been first born with the Lunar gift. Channary, as the eldest royal daughter, would be queen, as her son or daughter would rule next, and the generation after that, and the generation after that. It was how the crown had been passed on since the day Luna became a monarchy, since the day Cyprus Blackburn created his own throne.

Levana would not be the one to disrupt those values now, no matter how much it irked her to know that silly, vapid Channary would spend more time batting her lashes at handsome servants than discussing the economic difficulties facing their country.

But Levana was only fifteen years old, as she was so often reminded, so what did she know about it?

Nothing at all, is what Channary would say, or any one of the thaumaturges who were preparing to swear fealty to her. Their bias seemed to ignore the laws, that Lunar royalty could rule as young as thirteen, with or without the advice of a council.

Levana stood on the third-level balcony, staring down into the great hall where the funeral had been, where her sister had sobbed until she could hardly breathe and then fainted, or pretended to faint, and was carried away by—of all the guards—Evret Hayle, who was standing nearby when it happened. Where Levana had been left alone to blunder through an unprepared speech of lies and fake tears.

The grays were gone now, replaced with the official colors of Luna—white, red, and black. An enormous tapestry hung on the wall behind the dais, depicting the Lunar insignia in shimmering, handwoven threads, a design that had originated back when Luna was a republic. It depicted Luna and the capital city of Artemisia in the foreground, with Earth—once their ally—in the distance. It was a majestic piece, but it was impossible for Levana not to think that it would have been even more stunning had it been made by the fingers of Solstice Hayle.

Though countless servants were toiling away in preparation for the ceremony, and her sister was no doubt being fitted into her gown at that moment, Levana was glad for the temporary serenity in the empty hall.

She had selected a simple sapphire-blue dress to match the gloves delivered to her chambers that morning. They arrived in a white box, wrapped in crisp tissue paper and accompanied by a little note from Solstice, which Levana had thrown away without reading.

The gloves were even more beautiful in the daylight that poured through the palace windows, and the embroidery was more delicate and exquisite than she’d imagined. The threads began with flourishing
L
s placed covertly on her palms, before curling around her forearms and past her elbows like living vines that then blended perfectly with the chains that continued on to her neck.

She almost felt like a queen standing there, and she couldn’t keep away a fantasy that she was the one being crowned that day. She hadn’t yet decided on an acceptable glamour for the occasion, so in that moment, she became her sister. Twenty-two years old, mature and elegant, with those ever-smiling eyes.

But no. She didn’t want to be Channary. She didn’t want her beauty, not if it came with her cruelty and selfishness as well.

No sooner had she thought it than another woman flashed through her thoughts.

I do not believe you have ever met my wife.

Trying on the glamour of Solstice Hayle felt like something taboo and reprehensible, and strangely
right
in the very wrongness of it. Levana thought of her flawless complexion and the ringlets of dark hair draped over her shoulders, of her almond-shaped eyes and the way her lips had a just-kissed hint of rouge to them, though the idea that the redness was caused by a kiss was quite possibly a product of Levana’s own envy. She thought of Solstice’s thick, flirtatious eyelashes, and how she had seemed to glow with happiness, even on a day of mourning. She thought of Solstice’s stomach, plump and round with the promise of a child.

Evret’s child.

Levana settled a hand on her own stomach, incorporating the pregnancy into the glamour. What must that feel like, to have a living creature growing inside her? A child created by love, not political advantage or manipulation.